


undiplomatic ties

by desastrista



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Master/Slave, Past Sexual Abuse, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desastrista/pseuds/desastrista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captive Prince Week Day 2 - Scars. </p><p>(Princes Gambit spoilers.) Torveld asks Erasmus about the burns on his leg. The fate of a country rests on the answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	undiplomatic ties

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this fic back in like March, decided I didn't like it, and used some of the material for the fic "Never Could Resist". It languished on my hard drive until I started to write something else for this day's prompt, decided I didn't like that, remembered this fic and decided I was wrong in March and that I should go with it instead.

Torveld had seen the burns on the back of Erasmus’s thighs. He had heard Damen’s story about what had happened to Erasmus in Vere. 

He was still not expecting the strange, half-disbelieving smile that Erasmus wore after the first time they tumbled together.

“What's that expression?” Torveld had teased. 

Erasmus had flushed. “This slave had not realized it could be enjoyable, that is all.” 

 

****** 

 

Torveld had delivered his brother a peace treaty with the Vaskian Empire after two decades of military service. Now, his brother sent him on a diplomatic exchange to Vere. 

Torveld had not thought that to be a particularly fair trade. 

But his brother needed someone to assess the political situation in Vere. Rumors that reached Bazal talked about the tension between the Prince and the Regent. With the Prince due to ascend to the throne in less than a year, the King needed to know if these rumors were true, what the different factions in this feud looked like, and whether any unrest would spill over the border into Patras. 

Torveld had always heard the Veretian court to be a den of vipers. Torveld considered himself to be a simple man. He was certain that there would be nothing for him in Vere. 

He’d underestimated the charms of the Veretian Prince, Laurent. 

He’d been utterly blindsided by Erasmus. 

 

******* 

 

Erasmus was gorgeous. Exceptionally well-trained, even by the high standards of Akielon palace slaves. Quite shy and sweet as well, Torveld was coming to learn. 

Hearing about the abuse that he had been subjected to awoke a kind of protective fire in Torveld. He was going to make sure that no one hurt Erasmus again. 

The first time he asked about the burns was the first full day he spent with Erasmus and the last full day they spent in Vere. Erasmus had just woken up, and Torveld was telling him about Damen’s visit and the plans for the rest of the day. 

“We will be leaving for Patras tomorrow morning,” he said and smiled at the way the words made Erasmus smile. He continued, “Who was it, who burned you? I want to make sure they pay for what they did before we leave.” 

The smile froze for a moment and then vanished. Erasmus bit his lower lip and was quiet. 

The silence dragged on. At first, it surprised Torveld. He was sincere in his offer but had asked the question lightly: he had not expected it to provoke such a reaction. But slowly it dawned on him, as Erasmus did not say anything: he had asked a direct question. A slave would make himself answer a direction question from his master.

If Erasmus was so hesitant to answer, something about the truth must be very painful. Torveld had promised himself not to allow Erasmus to be hurt again, and yet somehow his question had hurt the boy. 

“You don’t have to answer,” he said quickly. He could see how Erasmus relaxed. He smiled again, although there was a hesitation there. Torveld had just smiled weakly back. 

 

********* 

 

Laurent requested Patran men the last night that Torveld stayed in Arles. 

Laurent had helped arranged for Torveld to return back to Patras with a king’s ransom in slaves, including Erasmus. A token of goodwill, he said. But the more they talked, the more Laurent kept returning to the question of military aid. 

It was hard to miss that Laurent was politically isolated. He had a few friends in court, it seemed, but far too few for someone who was about to ascend to the throne. He was dogged by accusations of inexperience and impertinence. He was always seen in the shadow of his great, fallen brother. And much worse – those loyal to the Regent alleged an indecent relationship between Laurent and the last Auguste. Better, they said, to keep the ruler they already had than to trust the Kingdom to someone like that. 

Torveld was sympathetic to Laurent and his cause. He found the Veretian prince to be charming and clever. But those traits could not change the fact that Patras was not a traditional ally of Vere. His brother’s kingdom had no stake in who took the throne. 

He left Vere with the slaves. He had not committed any men to Laurent. 

 

******** 

 

Erasmus was adapting well to his new place in the Patran retinue. He already spoke the language well, and he was improving every day. It was hard to miss how much more relaxed he seemed the further they got from the Veretian capital. Erasmus had always had a radiant smile, but as they approached the border with Patras it seemed to come easier and easier. 

One day, Torveld asked him if there was anything he would miss in Vere. 

Erasmus seemed to consider his options. “The Prince was very kind,” he said. 

Torveld considered the Prince’s reputation of being cold and distant. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Erasmus blushed. “Well, he had told me that I would be asked to perform, and that if I was very brave, I would get a reward. And then I met you.” Erasmus was positively scarlet by now. Torveld smiled at him. “He’s such an important man. But he cared about me.” 

“He wanted an exchange. You and the other Akielon slaves for Patran men sent to Ravenel.” Erasmus just made a non-committal noise in response. “Knowing that deal, do you still think he was kind?” 

Erasmus did not even hesitate before nodding. “Even if there was an exchange,” he said. “He didn’t have to, but he sought me out. I think he genuinely wanted to help.” 

Torveld smiled. There was something so genuine and unassuming about Erasmus. He was straightforward, in a way that Veretian politics would probably never be.

Not for the first time, Torveld thought about how glad he was to be leaving Vere, and how glad he was to be leaving Vere with Erasmus. 

 

******* 

 

Torveld knew that his brother would be expecting a letter from him soon. He had been putting off writing it for a while now. But his brother would want to know what he had made of the political situation in Vere. 

He thought of the situation as he had heard it. 

The Regent had ruled Vere well since the death of the last king. 

Laurent was an unknown quantity. He was a potentially dangerous monarch: his hatred for Akielos was legendary. 

He thought of the rumors that he had heard about Laurent, and how little they matched the man he had encountered in Vere. How much the Regent stood to gain from Laurent's name being dragged through the mud. 

And then Torveld sat down and wrote to his brother about Laurent’s request for men. He advised his brother to supply them. 

 

****** 

 

It had been over a month since he had asked Erasmus about the burns. Vere would soon be behind them. Erasmus seemed happier and more comfortable every day. And Torveld suspected that he really needed to hear Erasmus’s answer. 

So he asked Erasmus again who it was that had burned his leg. 

Once again, the boy froze. It was not as bad as the first time. But he still averted his eyes, still refused to look at Torveld. 

“You don’t have to answer,” Torveld hastened to add. 

Erasmus did not look as relieved to hear those words this time around. 

 

****** 

 

He sent the messenger on one of his fastest horses. His brother was similarly hasty in his response. 

The King would not send Laurent aid. 

And, because the King was Torveld’s brother and knew him well, he urged Torveld not take any action by himself. 

Growing up, Torveld had always been told that he should be loyal above all else to his brother. Torgeir was the king. Torgeir was the pillar upholding Patras. 

Torveld folded the letter with a reluctant sigh. 

 

****** 

 

Torveld had become distracted and anxious about the Veretian situation. It had been six weeks since he left Arles and the question of what to do had only weighted on him worse. 

Erasmus, he sensed, had noticed his change in mood. He seemed worried as well. 

It was late one night. Sleep had still not found Torveld. Erasmus lay curled up against him. Torveld thought him asleep, when he said, all at once, in a quiet voice. “It was the Regent.” 

Torveld shifted and made to sit up. Erasmus reluctantly sat up to. In the dark, Torveld could barely make out Erasmus’s expression. He suspected Erasmus to be embarrassed. 

“You asked me,” he continued, “who it was that burned my leg. It was the Regent.” 

His voice was barely above a whisper. 

Torveld leaned forward to give him a kiss. 

 

****** 

 

The next day, Torveld conferred briefly with his commanders. The decision was made. 

They would march for Ravenel the next morning. They would be coming to the aid of Laurent.


End file.
